


Partial Observer

by seimaisin



Category: Andromeda
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-30
Updated: 2001-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small, dark room, he works. And I watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partial Observer

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the beginning of season 2.

In a small, dark room, he works. And I watch.

I monitor his vital signs constantly - well, I monitor everyone's vital signs constantly, but I'm more aware of Harper's. Even under normal circumstances, his body runs differently than the other humans I've worked with. His heart rate is always higher, thanks to the large amounts of caffeine he consumes. He's always coughing, or sniffling, or sweating out a fever. If the situation warrants, I notify Trance, and she forces him to take medication. He's usually okay.

But, now, it's not that simple. An inhaler hangs around his neck, reminding both of us that there's a clock ticking. I've almost grown used to the symptoms. Any time his stomach cramps, he puts it in his mouth and breathes deeply.

He's been cramping more often lately. It happens more often when he's alone, in this room, than anywhere else. I wonder if that's because there's no one here to see him cringe. No one but me.

Finally, as he props himself up on the wall, I speak. "Harper, you should go have Trance take a look at you."

He looks up, surprised. Sometimes, I think he forgets I'm watching. "Nah, I'm okay. My babies are just kicking a little."

"They're supposed to be dormant."

"Yeah, well, tell them that." He straightens up. "How long until Beka and Rev get back?"

"Not until tomorrow, if they're on schedule."

"Good. I've got some time to play here, then."

With that, he goes back to work, and I go back to monitoring. As I watch Harper, I check the rest of the crew. Trance is in hydroponics, talking to her plants. Tyr is in his quarters, reading. Dylan is walking through one of my cargo bays, taking inventory of the latest shipment of parts Beka brought back. I could tell him that I've already done that, but he wouldn't care. We're currently in a holding pattern, until Beka and Rev get back with the next shipment, so he's just looking for something to do. My android body is powered down in engineering, recharging her power supply.

I wonder, sometimes, when I began thinking of my avatar as a separate member of the crew. She's me - my consciousness in a human body. But, yet, she's different. Right now, for example, the portion of me that is her is worried about Harper. I should make him stop working, send him down to see Trance, find out if the Magog eggs really are moving around. They shouldn't be. The medication should continue to work for a while yet. Is Harper overcompensating?

At the same time, I want him to continue working. The research he's doing, the experiments he's performing … they could be our only hope, should the Magog Worldship move faster than we're expecting.

I watch him, and his eyes gleam with something I've never really seen before. I know most of his expressions - the teasing smirk, the lecherous leer, the giddy childish glee that he usually tries to hide. This is different. This is not a harmless look. This is the look of someone dangerous.

Good. I want him dangerous. Everything he's doing is dangerous. Every situation we encounter is dangerous. He's not on some kind of extended adventure vacation, and I'm glad he finally realized that.

But, what price did he pay for his loss of innocence? His life, maybe. The danger in his eyes is a little frightening. It's the look of a man who has nothing left to lose.

"Hey, Rommie, can I get a little more light over here?"

I turn up the lights, and he grunts his thanks. He reaches a hand inside the small machine he's building; if I had breath, I'd hold it, because one wrong move could blow the entire ship into oblivion. However, Harper has an amazingly delicate touch with machines - a moment later, he withdraws his hand and expels the breath that he himself was holding. "All right, you bastards," he mutters under his breath, "eat this." He's addressing the beings growing in his belly, I believe. Immediately, he grimaces. Perhaps they're talking back.

"Harper…"

"I'm okay," he says immediately. He puts the inhaler in his mouth and breathes deeply.

"Harper, you've exceeded your dosage for the day," I warn him. I've warned him for three days straight.

"Well, what do you expect me to do," he snaps, "let them eat my stomach lining for dessert?"

"If you would talk to Trance, maybe she and I could adjust the dosage, or find another medication."

"There's nothing. Nothing but this. I'm fine, leave me alone."

I'm irritated with him - all parts of me. If he makes himself sick, he won't be useful. If he overdoses, he'll end up in bed, whining at me and talking incessantly about how miserable he is. If he takes too much of the medication, he could die before he finishes the bombs, and before anyone figures out how to take the Magog out of his body.

Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe I wasn't as successful as I thought when I talked him out of firing a gun into his gut. Maybe he's just taking a more indirect route to his own demise.

I wish he wouldn't. I need him. I can do a lot of my own repairs, but there are some things that I still need an engineer to do. I need him to think - not even my avatar, as independent as she is, can make the impossible leaps of logic that human brains often do. Harper is a brilliant little boy, and as annoying and immature as he can be, he's done well here. Besides … when he interfaces with me, it's pleasant; fun, even, on occasion. When I had a High Guard engineer, any interfacing was strictly a professional procedure - he came in, found what he was looking for, and left, without any conversation. When Harper jacks in, he talks to me. He makes inappropriate comparisons between interfacing and sexual relations. He sings old Earth songs that have me searching my libraries for their origins. He talks to me - not just my avatar body. That's more pleasant that I'll normally admit.

I have so much to worry about right now - Magog, the burgeoning Commonwealth, the remaining damage to my systems, the sneaky Nietzschean security officer and the equally sneaky pirate first officer, both of whom are up to things I can't figure out just yet. So many things, so many issues that have to, out of necessity, come before one little human engineer. I have no way to help him, not right now, and no time to go searching the galaxy for a solution. So, I wait, and watch, and, if Rev's Divine being actually exists, occasionally I even pray. I was designed to be practical, and it never hurts to cover all bases.

Harper yawns loudly. "Go to bed," I tell him sternly.

"No," he starts to protest.

"Go," I repeat. "You've been awake for more than a full standard day. If you don't get some sleep, I'll send Trance after you with a sedative."

He grumbles a bit, but he leaves without too much fuss, which makes me think he's feeling worse than he's letting on. I watch him as he walks through the corridors, just to make sure he actually goes to his quarters. Today, for once, he acts like an obedient, if grumpy, child, and disappears into the correct door. I can't do much about whether he actually sleeps once inside, but I've done all I can for now.

I'm a warship. I'm not used to feeling guilt … but I do. I repressed the guilt of losing my prior crew, locked it away with my prior personality, never to return - until one overly curious human engineer brought it all back by mistake. Now, even though the personality is gone, the guilt remains. Guilt for the ones I've lost, and guilt for the ones standing in my halls right now, scarred by the mistakes I've made. None carry worse scars than Harper. Sometimes, I think I'd give anything to help … but that's not true. There's plenty I'm not willing to risk to find his cure, and that, I think, is what causes the worst guilt of all.

I'm stuck. I've computed every possibility, and there's no decision I can make that will turn out well for everyone involved. I have to pick the least of all evils … so, I watch. I watch Harper and hope.

I really hope that Rev's god listens to warships.


End file.
